The Skull
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Ever wonder how Sherlock got his skull? Here's one idea. Honey 'Verse.


**Disclaimer: Not mine…yet. Someday I will sneak into the BBC studios and kidnap John, Sherlock and Lestrade and tie them to my bed, but I haven't done it yet.**

**A/N: Cookies for anyone that spots the slight crossover in this story. And yes, this is just a bit of silliness.**

"John!" Sherlock gasped, cradling John's wedding present to him gently in his hands. "Where did you get this?"

John grinned at his newly minted husband, stroking a gentle finger down his own wedding present, an ivory handled dagger. "Deduce it."

Sherlock studied the object in his hands, then his husband and then the other guests before turning his attention back to his present. "St. Bart's," he finally decided on, knowing it was only a guess but a good guess as that was where John had gone to school and he still had friends there.

"Nope." John grinned unrepentantly, pleased that Sherlock hadn't immediately deduced where the skull had come from.

"No?" Sherlock turned wide eyes on him. How could he be wrong? He was never wrong, well almost never. "What do you mean no? Where else would you get a skull, John?"

"I'm not telling you, Sherlock." John pulled him into his arms and giving him a swift kiss. "Think of it as a puzzle that cannot be solved. Because I won't tell you anything about the skull that you don't already know."

"All puzzles can be solved, John," Sherlock scowled down at the man who had been his official husband for less than an hour even as he rested his arms on the other man's shoulders and gave him the soft smile that usually made John cave to anything.

"I'm not telling." John said stubbornly, manfully ignoring the smile. "I thought you might have fun making up stories for him."

Sherlock pounced on this tidbit of information. "It's a male, then?" He upped the wattage of his smile, trying to make John melt.

John shot him a level look that said he knew when Sherlock was attempting to manipulate him. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Sherlock growled, smile gone, since it obviously wasn't working, and replaced by a fierce frown. "I need data."

"Sherlock," John sighed. "Do you not like your present? If you don't I can always take it back."

Sherlock shot him another glare. "Don't you dare! I like the skull very much, John, I just wish you'd tell me where she came from." He sighed, knowing it was a losing battle.

"Barbados," Lestrade called out. "He was a pirate. He sailed with the Dread Pirate Roberts and was forced to walk the plank when he tried to get the crew to mutiny. A diver found him and sent him to John to give to you."

"Siwwy Daddy," five year old, Ben chided. "He was Darf Wader. Wuke saved his head and gave it to Uncwe Jawn for you, Uncwe Sherwock."

"Silly, Darth Vader, Luke, Uncle John and Uncle Sherlock, Benny," eleven year old Colleen corrected with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "And he wasn't. She was an African Princess. She was killed by a boar and her tribesmen preserved her body and gifted her to Uncle John for healing their king."

"I don't think so," A, who was going by Annabelle today, disagreed and grinned at her Blackberry. "She was a Valkyrie. She was killed during a raid on Hadrian's Wall and placed in a museum where she was forgotten until John unearthed her."

"Maybe he was Prince John," Joanne offered. "And Robin Hood was so mad about his treason that he had him entombed alive and an archeologist found him and shipped him to John because they have the same name."

"A Chinese emperor," Mr. Holmes called out. "Murdered by his own Samurai warriors unearthed and sent to Harry who sent him to John."

"Mozart's sister," Mrs. Holmes countered. "Burned at the stake for heresy and her bones put on display at the British Embassy in Austria. John found her there on his travels for the war and disgusted with the Austrian disregard brought her skull home with him so that she could bask in the respect she deserves."

"Pope Innocent III," Harry decided. "Robbing the Vatican and desecrating graves, Johnny? What has become of you?"

"Thomas Beckett," Clara grinned. "Johnny boy's got balls robbing his grave."

"You are all wrong," Mycroft told them gravely. Everyone quieted down and turned their attention to the politician who seemed to know everything. "It is obvious that this skull used to rest on the shoulders of the President of the United States."

"Perhaps, My, but which one?" Sherlock asked, having been caught up in the game.

"Abraham Lincoln, of course, baby brother."

The room dissolved into laughter. Sherlock leaned close to John's ear. "Thank you, John, it's perfect."

John hugged his husband close. "It'll keep you company while I'm gone and give you someone to talk to."

Sherlock frowned at the reminder that John would be leaving again then deliberately lightened his frown. He would not allow this day to be ruined. "Not to mention a mystery to divert me when I get bored."

"Very true."

As everyone continued to make outlandish suggestions on the skull's history and origins, John winked at Joanne behind Sherlock's back. Her cousin, Temperance, from America had really come through for him.


End file.
